Chapter Three #2
In fact, if he thought hard on it, perhaps it was because she had damaged his pride.
No lady in recent memory had ever denied him his wants, and even though he’d not been romantically pursuing Lady Kathalin, she had still denied him his wishes.
He had tried to use the de Wolfe charm on her and it hadn’t worked.
She had refused his wishes and, truth be told, he was insulted by that.
Now, he was starting to feel like a fool.
A fool that had let his pride get in the way of his better judgment.
“I will not bind you in this chamber,” he told her.
“There is no way for you to escape unless you want to leap through flames to do it, and I do not believe you are that stupid. However, know that this door will be guarded and if you make any move to open it, I will replace the ropes on your wrists and tie you to the bed. Is this in any way unclear?”
Kathalin wouldn’t look at him, rubbing her raw skin where the rope had injured her. “It is clear,” she muttered.
She didn’t say any more than that. Frankly, Gates didn’t expect her to.
She was beaten and subdued, thanks to him.
That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? Perhaps it was, once, but now he was coming to feel pity for her.
He had been professional yet harsh in completing his orders, and he had come out on top in their dispute.
And complete victory was exactly what he wanted.
… wasn’t it?
Gates’ gaze lingered on Kathalin for a moment before quietly shutting the door and putting two of his best men to guard it.
He gave them explicit instructions about keeping the door shut and not letting the lady out, no matter what, before heading down to the common room to seek out the innkeeper.
Passing Stephan at the bottom of the stairs as the man slurped his way through a cup of hot ale, Gates went on the hunt.
The innkeeper wasn’t difficult to find, back in the kitchens preparing food for dozens of unexpected and demanding guests.
Gates exchanged a few words with the man, wanting information on the businesses in town even though they were closed.
When he took Kathalin from St. Milburga’s, it was without any clothing or possessions whatsoever.
A rain cloak had been the only thing she’d had for two days to keep her warm and it clearly wasn’t adequate. She needed more.
Therefore, Gates knew the only decent thing to do was to purchase the woman a few necessities because she literally had nothing and maybe if he did that, he wouldn’t feel so bloody guilty for treating her so poorly.
For acting like a barbarian because his pride was hurt because she hadn’t folded to his will, swooning over the flashing de Wolfe dimples.
Obtaining the name of a merchant who carried all manner of general goods, Gates took a few of his men with him as he ventured out into the snowy night.
The snow was blowing vertically as he and four of his men entered the streets of the town.
Snow was already gathering in big drifts against the front of the buildings and he counted five doors before he came to the one the innkeeper told him about.
He had his helm on and his visor lowered to keep the snow out of his eyes, and he rapped heavily on the door, several times, before a light appeared in the small window next to the door and a man’s voice shouted at him to go away.
Standing out in the blizzard, and quite unhappy about it, Gates gave the man a choice – opening the door or kicking it open, to which the man wisely opened it.
Gates and his soldiers pushed their way into a small but comfortable room, well appointed, where Gates explained his needs to the terrified elderly man and woman he had just roused right out of their beds.
Goods, he needed. Any manner of ladies’ goods.
He even produced his coin purse and put a handful of silver coins on the nearest table to prove two things – he wasn’t there to rob them and he was serious about obtaining ladies’ necessities.
When the couple saw the money, they were a little less fearful, enough so that the man opened up a smaller door that led to his adjoining merchant business and admitted Gates inside.
The wife followed, carrying a lit taper and asked what, exactly, Gates had in mind.
Peering down at the tiny old woman dressed in heavy robes and a sleeping cap, Gates wasn’t exactly sure how to answer.
Other than an occasional trinket, he’d never really shopped for a woman before so he wasn’t entirely certain.
He told the old woman that the lady he was escorting had absolutely nothing by way of possessions, clothing included, and he told the woman that she needed things that a proper young lady would have.
There wasn’t much more he could say, considering he really had no idea what, in fact, a young lady would have, but the old woman seemed to know.
When she asked Gates how tall the lady was, Gates held up a hand to mark the top of Lady Kathalin’s head against him and described her as a slender woman.
With his brief explanation, the old woman set the taper down and went to work.
Gates watched her curiously as she collected a large woven basket from the floor that contained some kind of trinkets and dumped it over, spilling the items onto the ground.
She then proceeded to walk through the shop with the empty basket, in the near dark, pulling things off shelves, digging into other baskets, and opening a case or two.
Gates couldn’t really see the woman in the darkness as she banged around, and at times muttered to herself, but suddenly she appeared out of the shadows with a full basket in one hand and a cloak thrown over her shoulder.
The old woman approached Gates and took the cloak off her shoulder, handing it to him.
“That is a fine piece of goods, my lord,” she said, indicating the cloak that he was already examining. “Blue wool with fox lining. It should be quite warm against this weather, but mind you don’t get it too wet. The wool will smell and the fur will rot.”
It was actually a beautiful cloak and well made. Gates peered closely at the careful stitching, noting the quality. “You carry goods such as this?” he asked, surprised.
“I do, my lord.”
He lifted his eyebrows in mild shock. “I have only seen shops for women’s garments like this in London,” he said. “I did not expect to find a shop such as this in a small village.”
The old woman grinned. “I make them myself,” she said proudly.
“We have many travelers from Hereford and Shrewsbury. I can always find buyers for what I produce. I personally sew for the Countess of Shrewsbury. She buys all of her clothing from me. Have you not heard of Gerta Black, the seamstress? That would be me.”
Gates was impressed. “I am afraid that I have not heard of you,” he said, moving from the cloak to the basket. “But that would make sense considering that I do not purchase women’s clothing as a habit. What do you have in the basket?”
The old woman shifted her basket to the nearest table, which had neat stacks of woolen fabric on it, and she began to pull items forth out of the basket.
“You said the lady had no clothing with her,” she said, indicating the garments she pulled out.
“I loosely sew together gowns and surcoats and shifts so that they may be finished off by fine ladies to suit their size, so I have a good deal of unfinished garments that are mostly made. From what you described of your lady, I believe these will fit her. Can she sew?”
Gates shrugged. “I do not know but I would assume so.”
Gerta began to lay out what was in the basket; two soft, eggshell-colored shifts were pulled forth, unhemmed so that they were very long, as well as an exquisite, blue damask surcoat that, upon closer inspection, had different types of blue fabric that comprised the bodice of the garment, making it a patchwork-type design but exceedingly becoming with the lace-up front and long, belled sleeves.
There was a second woolen garment in a shade of lavender, simple in design with long sleeves and a snug bodice, and then there was heavy linen that hadn’t been dyed.
It remained an off-white color but the old seamstress had sewn white rabbit fur around the neckline and at the wrists of the long sleeves.
It had a lace-up bodice with no fastening, but the laces were on the sides of the bodice so one could make it as tight, or as loose, as one wanted. It was exquisite.
As Gates examined the surcoats, the old woman pulled two pairs of hose out of the basket along with two big shawls, basically big blocks of material that the lady could wrap around her shoulders and drape over her head for modesty and warmth.
She also pulled forth two pairs of slippers, both silk, and one that was lined with fur.
Gates saw the shoes and picked one of them up, inspecting it, uncertain how big the lady’s foot was but assuming it wasn’t too large.
He’d caught a glimpse of her feet as he’d hauled her out of the priory over his shoulder, and he didn’t think her feet were overly large.
As he studied the quality of the slippers, the old woman removed the final items of the booty – a sewing kit in a small wooden box, two bars of lumpy white soap that smelled of rosemary, some kind of oil in a phial to ease rough skin, a comb made from a tortoise shell, and a small sack of iron hair pins.
“There,” she said decisively, pointing to the entire cache. “Your lady will be well supplied for her journey, my lord. What else did you wish for her?”
Gates looked at the goods; there was a lot of it and it was expensive, but he naturally assumed that Lord de Lara would want his daughter well clothed, as the offspring of an earl, so he didn’t barter with the woman about the price. He simply had her pack everything neatly back into the basket.